Savage Dreams
by AlakaZamGurl
Summary: Semi-phscological. My version of Harry's haunting dreams, where he struggels with his own fate and is losing- badly.


As he drifted off into the world of dreams, a fog appeared before him. Harry travelled blinded against it, not knowing where his steps would lead him. He felt a hard, stone wall: it was damp and cold. The room was soulless and foreboding. Harry leaned against the wall and sank to the ground, he was choking, choking. Harry tried to scream but a wisp of breath was the only thing he was strong enough to produce. Thought feeble, it fought away the fog, and a clearing was fabricated an alleyway of haze and deep smog. It was a dimly lit room, bare with an eerie smell about it, it smelt like the long past. a tragic past. There was a golden plaque on the wall, shimmering with a kind of uncensored beauty, tongues of fluttering light spread across it in the flickering candlelight. Its golden sheen contrasted so much from the walls thick with moss that it almost physically urged him closer like a beckoning finger. Engraved Latin verses framed the plaque, in the centre it read -Gryffindor- in black lettering. Harry traced the grooves of the letters with his thumb and murmured the Latin verses softly, the meaning of which was alien to him. As he again uttered the incantation, the stone floor rattled and rose, creating a hillock of earth. Something screamed out at Harry from the most soil. Harry gathered his wits about him. He dug and dug and dug until he had unravelled a familiar sight. It was a handle, it was /his/ handle. Harry wrapped his fingers securely around it, the sword sent a flood of emotions rushing through his veins. He tugged at the sword, but it wouldn't move, it must be trapped. Must un-trap it. Must get the sword. it should belong to me! Harry strained and strained but the sword refused to depart itself from its muddy brown haven. He grew increasingly frustrated. He knelt down. He burrowed ravenously, deeper and deeper in the rich soil. Harry hit something solid, he grabbed the sword and heaved with all this vigour. The candle flames puffed out simultaneously, something was drawing the sword away, pulling at the other end. Harry struggled furiously, it paid off. He swiped the sword clean from the clutches of his opponent and raised it victoriously. He laughed to himself with an uncanny light-heartedness... That was until he looked down. There was a skeleton reaching up, to reclaim his lost spirit, his sword that had been stripped off him by this unlikely pirate. This hillock wasn't just a heap of dirt, it was a GRAVE! Harry's fiery core was snuffed out, he looked at the sword sickened by his actions. Why? Why had he done that? There was something in that tidal wave of emotions that just. swept him away, away from his stable mind, away from whom he thought he was. Guilt and disappointment filled him. He had failed, failed himself, failed his deceased, failed his own fate. The fog again clogged up the room, Harry remained frozen. Stunned by himself, scared /of/ himself. Of the things he was capable of. He turned his face to the sword, the thickening fog had enveloped them by now. His hands were still wrapped around the sword, he strived to release it, to repair his damage, but there was no going back. The harder Harry struggled, the more his hands gripped the weapon he feared yet his heart yearned for. His hands weren't on the handle anymore, they were on the ice-thin outline of the sword. It pained him physically, but his heart swelled with satisfaction. Blood trickled down his arm. It was flowing freely from his sliced and slit palms. He wanted to let go, yes, he needed to let go, but something wouldn't let him. The fog was suffocating him once more, the pressure overwhelmed Harry as he melted to the ground, the sword dropped and clattered to the ground. Out of reach, then out of sight. The fog smothered Harry and he couldn't breathe. Harry's jagged howl of pain and fury echoed through the dormitory, fierce pain had awoken him. His bed was drenched in bloodstains and his hands shook uncontrollably with their open palms. A blur of faces and feet and voices came streaming in. Harry's head was spinning, all he could see around him was red, everywhere red. A rush of shrieks and orders rushed through his brain, he could feel himself being dragged somewhere, he focused his eyes for a fraction of a second, but that was long enough to see a trail of blood snaking through the corridor. His eyelids were heavy, his head was pounding. He had no other choice. Back again to the confused haze of a world that lay beyond his conscious but still merged with reality in frightening ways. He, or something in his unconscious was released and sent running wild in this unfamiliar land that he detested. and Harry was suspicious this part of him didn't have good intentions. He prayed somebody would wake him up, please.. Somebody wake me. I can't stand this. mustn't sleep for too long. Can't survive in the sleep. wake up. wake up.. 


End file.
